


The White Book

by myria_chan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brienne POV, Canon Compliant, F/M, Jaime is over and Jaime is gone, Moving On, Ramin Djawadi is an angel, Show!Brienne deserved better, Thank the Lord for Ramin Djawadi, but I'm still hurting, introspective, letting go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 11:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19208296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myria_chan/pseuds/myria_chan
Summary: A story of acceptance.Love—falling in love, rather—was like building a home in people. When Brienne was younger, she was told not to build a home in people, said that the trouble far outweighed the comfort, and that people were not reliable resources to begin with.Brienne did not listen. She built a home on one Jaime Lannister.





	The White Book

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: Did you know that the first notes of the iconic “White Book” (Brienne’s theme as she’s writing down Jaime’s good deeds) are that of “I Am Hers and She Is Fine” (Game of Throne’s wedding theme)? 
> 
> Fun, right? *ugly cries at a corner* That's the closest thing we'll ever get to happily ever after.

* * *

Love—falling in love, rather—was like building a home in people.

When Brienne was younger, she was told not to build a home in people, said that the trouble far outweighed the comfort, and that people were not reliable resources to begin with.

Brienne did not listen.

She built a home on one Jaime Lannister. She wasn’t sure how it started, wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the exact moment where the jump led to the freefall, when mutual trust triumph over the fear of descent, over principle, over houses and loyalty; would never truly plunge into the possibilities of opportune romances being open for someone like her, but by the time Brienne recognized the signs, the home that she built was far too big to be tore down by denial, far too guarded by ancient valyrian steel, shamefully kept secrets, and faith.

In this lifetime, Jaime was still her favorite chapter, the one she reads until her eyes were drowned in tears and her heart was burdened with memories. He was every broken sonnet she refused to sing. He was every unfinished poetry she’d never write. He was her sweetest pain, her intoxicating sin, the disease she did not want to be cured from.

Their love was his solace, his haven—a safe place where imperfections were met with acceptance and love was a scar he can wear with pride for the rest of his life.

And then, he left, taking the home she built with him.

Brienne opened her eyes to find her bed as cold and as empty as her heart. Sighing, she rose up.

It was time to accept the sad reality.

That she was never his home to begin with.

* * *

The ashes of King’s Landing were a welcome balm to her frigid heart. They fall like snow upon the ruins of a once beautiful city, once a farce of unities and kingdoms under an imposing throne; cold as the North, heady with the scent of dying embers that reminded of the destruction unwrought by foreign invaders. The burnt walls, painted in screams purified by fire and blood, stood tall and proud, disgraced sentinels who failed to protect its denizens from the wrath and greed.

People were displaced, society and its standards damned, equaled by fear, death and suffering no tyrants’ mighty long fall could ever seek to achieve.

She heard that Jon Snow stabbed a dagger into Dragon Queen’s heart to quell her madness. A small part of her hoped that the Kingslayer would deal a similar blow to the Lion Queen. Imagine her reaction when she found out they were uncovered in each other’s arms—a poetic end befitting of a tragic love that defied the very essence of the word itself.

Disappointment was not even keen enough of a word.

Bile bubbled from her stomach like a confidante, but she swallowed back and held it down. She no longer felt the urge to react. Lately, she no longer felt the urge to react upon anything.

She accepted, simply.

Jaime Lannister left her to die with his sister-lover, and she accepted. Queen Sansa of Winterfell released her from her vows, urging Brienne to protect her brother in her behalf, and she accepted. King Bran the Broken offered her the position as the first Lady Commander of the Kingsguard, and she accepted.

Acceptance allowed her to move forward, allowed her to work, allowed her to place her numbing emotions aside in the service of those who need her the most—a very practical coping mechanism in the aftermaths of wars.

Strange, though.

After all the battle she fought, no one had managed to land a killing blow, and yet, somehow, this new founded principle has left her functionally dead as the fallen city before her.

Muted footsteps against dusty cobblestones told her of incoming company. She need not look up to see who it was, for her unexpected companion reached just below waist.

“Fancy meeting you in King’s Landing,” was Tyrion Lannister’s lighthearted attempt to start a conversation. She honored him with a curt nod, still trapped in the wanderlust of her thoughts.

To be honest, she wasn’t entirely sure how to deal him. Their last meaningful conversation had been fueled by alcohol and involved a slightly taciturn direction to the sensitive topic of her maidenhood. Often times, they met in the narrow corridors of Winterfell, but they were either engaged in advocating for the Queens they serve, or discretely avoided each other due to pressing matters of survival and warfare.

“I hear you have been crowned as the Master of Arms,” he whistled, something curling from the bottom of his being he had no business of reaching, but sought for regardless, “and the Lady Commander of the Kingsguard. My brother would be honored to have you as a successor.”

She met his gaze then, and saw the trepidation underneath the false mask of bravado, mismatched mirrors of her blue.

Tyrion smiled wobbly. “Pardon me. I wanted to talk to someone who knew him. Or at least, I wanted to talk to someone who believed in the goodness of him.”

“Did he mention me?”

Truth was her bitter remedy; Brienne said the words before she could stop herself, her voice laced by ice and frost, for a moment he was taken aback, lobbying into unfamiliar territory.

“I believe it was too painful for him,” his reply, slow, level-headed, compassionate, desperate and hopeless, as if he was trying to convince himself more than her. She pitied him then, reminiscing the days she jumped at every knock on wood, every neigh of horses, every ray of optimism that he would come back to her, that he would choose her.

But pain was an unhealthy addiction Jaime was accustomed to, and that a momentary bliss in Brienne’s arms could never rival nor replace, or relieve.

“I am an excellent judge of character,” he tried.

She let the weight of his word settle in the air like a sentence that tasted like ashes in their mouths. Tyrion opened his lips, then closed it promptly, a pair of mismatched eyes searching hers. The green one reminded her of _his_ , once bridled with happiness, forever haunted by the crimes. She tore her gaze, tired of remembering, of hating, of feeling _anything_.

Exhausted from Jaime Lannister and all of his ghosts.

Her hand clenched upon the pommel of her sword. Tyrion closed his small one over hers.

“I sent him to his death,” he confessed softly, weak and fragile, hand tightening over hers, seeking redemption, “My brother saved me from execution and I repaid his good faith by killing our father, empowering a mad queen, and sending him to his death.” His voice broke. “I should have saddled him to Winterfell, chains and all, that bastard, all broken and crippled.”

Brienne looked down on him then, and saw him for the first time. Tyrion Lannister was small, not because of his height, not because of his insecurities, not because of the offenses he committed against humanity. He was small because he put too much faith in his own understanding, never once seeing that despite how insignificant his life was compared to the vastness of the world, the significance of his choices would forever haunt the people for the rest of times.

It reminded her of an idiot who rode to his death; put too much faith to a love that was doomed the moment it was birthed into existence.

“I would have killed him with his sword if he returned,” Brienne admitted, easy, as if some part of her knew he was dead all along.

Unbidden, a chuckle erupted from her chest. She placed a fist against her mouth, bit down upon the glove of her hand, gazed guiltily upon Tyrion, mirth already bubbling substantially despite her best efforts. His eyebrows shot high up his forehead, amused and bewildered, cackling through the tears that brims his lids. Brienne snorted loudly, the sound resembling a screeching boar—a heartbeat later, they were laughing hysterically.

Laughing through the sorrow.

Laughing through the agony.

Laughing through the unfairness of it all.

Laughter—the medicine, the bane to endure because death was easy, yet not everyone were granted its sweet escape. And as the laughter died, so the living must begin. 

Brienne crouched down, feeling more of herself than she had ever been these passing nightmares, and smiled. “He died protecting his Queen. That at least you gave him. Thank you.”

Tyrion’s bottom lip quivered; he inhaled sharply and nodded in short order. He grabbed for her hand once more, this time slipping a parchment in between their fingers. “You made him happy. You were the happiness he didn’t deserve. I would like to believe he loved you. I would like to believe you are the Queen he wanted to protect.”

Brienne clutched the parchment in her hand like a prayer, and did the only thing she knew well.

She accepted.

* * *

_To the best of knights and best of women,_

_I write in the fullest of confidence that as this letter reaches you, I would have already departed this earthly realm._

_I have no right for regrets. My life and my choices have always been for my house and my family, and I shall carry the Lannister name to the grave along with all the sins and destruction we brought upon the realm and its people._

_Live in peace, my brave lady, as you have sanctified me with in my final moments._

_Knighting you had been a privilege I never thought I could afford. You wore fealty better than any knight that lived before, and any who could aspire after. Know that I cherish the sweet hope of safety in the North, and that…_

There was a pause; a hesitancy in stroke.

_…holding you in the highest of regards has been the sweetest of sins I would gladly commit a thousand lifetimes over._

_‘til after forever,_

_Jaime Lannister_

* * *

It didn’t hurt like it used to.

Oathkeeper weighed on her hip like a saving grace; the golden reminder of his heart forged through betrayal and promises unbroken, of what they were and what they would always be—a double edged weapon that both protected and wounded. Respected her with his sword, he did. Honored her with his title, he did. Loving her with his entire being, he did not—not when his soul was tethered to a bond he could be free from.

No.

He would never sully their relationship with that emotion, not when love was something he associated with pain, something akin to poison.

Always, always, he would tell her he never deserved her.

Smiling, she picked up the quill and let the ink immortalize a love that was greater than all of his sins.

* * *

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, in case you're wondering, I "Ever Yours" Jaime Lannister. :* shout out to everyone who associated Show!Braime with Hamilton. 
> 
> Comments? Suggestions? Thank you for taking time to bear the pain with me. *hugs*


End file.
